The Night After
by Dweedle Dee
Summary: Chris Redfield wakes up from getting drunk at a S.T.A.R.S. with a little surprise in his bed, whom he confuses for Jill Valentine. Its not Jill... IMPLIED YAOI! Chris x Wesker (Implied Uke! Wesker, because honestly there isn't enough Uke!Wesker)


The Night After

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Resident Evil (Of any of its amazing characters) I am just using them to make this horrible fanfic story. (Seriously its more terrible than the infected in the actual game! You have been warned, its not too late to turn back now and save yourself!)

***Its been like a long time since I have posted a new story, and for all my reviewers (Who demanded more of ANY of my stories) I want to apologize for my laziness and writers block, I may or may not get to continuing those stories since I am kinda over Anime for right now.***

Implied Yaoi, Chris x Wesker with Uke! Wesker (Because there isn't enough of it! I like Wesker as a uke)

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"Mm Jill..." Chris used his nose to sleepily nuzzle into his partner's neck, his eyes closed in blissful darkness. How had he gotten her into his bed? Must have been after that party, when he got drunk and made a complete fool of himself. It was so hard to remember now, like a blur in his vision. It was there, yet he strained to see it. The slightly smaller figure beside him shifted, moving away from him to the edge of the bed. He pulled them back, gently moving her to his chest. And running his fingers through her surprisingly...Short hair...When had she cut it? At the party maybe? Chris blocked the thought from his mind as he continued to massage her scalp with his fingers. Now that he thought about it a little more, this person didn't feel like Jill. They felt a little more masculine than her, the hair was too short.

"Christopher if you value those fingers, you will remove them from my hair at once." A cold voice broke through his thoughts, and he forced his eyes open in shock. That voice was too familiar, WAY TOO FAMILIAR. This wasn't Jill in his bed, it wasn't Jill that he was cuddling with, it wasn't Jill's soft locks, it was...Albert Wesker. His captain.

"C-Captain...?" Chris hesitantly allowed his eyes to wander down to his captain, who was looking up at him with bemusement. He backed away from the blonde, who was assessing the situation. "W-Why aren't you Jill? U-Uh I mean...Shit." Wesker sighed, shaking his head and sitting up.

"Because I am not. Sorry to ruin your fantasy." Chris followed in suit, sitting up as well.

"Why are you in my bed?" The marksman looked down at his shaking hands, awaiting the answer.

"I haven't the slightest clue." Another sigh, before Wesker picked himself up off the bed.

"We didn't..Well y-you know..." Chris covered his face with his hands, hiding his rising blush at the idea. It was sick, gross, weird...But suddenly made him anxious. Almost TOO anxious. Wesker clothed himself properly, feeling bile rise in his throat.

"Well we are both um unclothed, in the same chambers, same bed...Cuddling, and remember nothing of the past night."

"That doesn't sound good."

"No. It doesn't." The blonde brushed his clothes off, collecting himself as best he could. For some reason his back hurt...Ugh.

"I hope it was good though." Wesker blinked a few times, looking at Chris with bewilderment.

"I beg your pardon?" Chris grinned, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I was just saying, since we can't remember it, I hope it was at least good for what it was." Wesker adverted his gaze, looking to the side and trying his hardest not to yell, slap, punch, or do anything else violent to the other male. "I hope I didn't hurt you too badly Cap." He was out of there, leaving a laughing Chris alone in bed. Wesker stormed down the hallway, the pain in his lower back getting more noticeable with each step he took.

"Are you okay Captain?" Jill Valentine lightly touched his arm, causing Wesker to halt in his tirade down the hallway.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He avoided eye-contact with the woman, keeping his glare in front of him, at nothing.

"You are limping for one, and you are glaring...Which brings me to another point, where are your sunglasses?" Sunglasses. The things he wears everyday. Wesker moves his hand to where his token sunglasses SHOULD be, only to feel nothing.

"Christopher." His voice is faint, but full of hidden rage.

Damn liquor, damn parties, damn Chris.


End file.
